


Introductions

by Etched_in_Fire



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first day of class, and Junko is 100% not thrilled about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introductions

Class was a dreadfully boring thing, though Junko supposed she had been asking for this when she signed up for the esteemed Hope’s Peak Academy.  Toying with her pigtails, the girl sat in the too cold, too stiff chair, her legs crossed like a lady and her books sitting passively on the desk.  _History.  Learning about dead people.  How fun…_ But a simple gander about the room and she thought snidely to herself. _Well, they’re probably more entertaining than this group of shitheads._   To her left was a girl, pale hair falling down her back and eyes set forward, almost as though she was a statue.  To her right, there was another girl, a giggly, sapphire-haired beauty with a desired, voluptuous chest and the faintest hint of blush about her cheeks.

            “Sayaka, do you think he likes you?” some busty brunette was whispering to the girl with the Barbie face. “I mean… _Likes_ you?”

            There was a girlish giggle, high-pitched and mashing every button on Junko Enoshima’s pet peeves keyboard.  But the girl tossed her hair over her shoulder, tips nearly brushing the former model (much to her distaste).  “I don’t know, but I hope not.  He’s got more pimples than Sakura has muscles.”

            “Technically, Sakura has the same amount of muscles as any woman,” the pale-haired girl finally moved from her statue-like pose, violet eyes piercing into the powdered face of Sayaka. “They’re just bigger due to her constant exercise and training.”

            _Dear God, if you ever gave two fucks about me, you will euthanize me right now.  Why did I ever agree to coming to this place?_ The ex-model rubbed her forehead, ruby red nails lightly scratching her skin.  Her salvation came with the opening of the door and the waddling of a professor, a stout man with a buzz cut, thin-rimmed spectacles, and blubbery lips that seemed to wave with every word.

            “Good morning class.  I am Professor Kato, your _ahem_ … history professor…”  His wedged arms struggled to haul his books and binders onto the podium.  “And this is HIST 1013, or World History.  And what a fascinating subject it is!  We will delve into the thick of the Amazons, and traverse the arid deserts of the Middle East!  We’ll be studying the architecture of France!  And… _ahem…_ other things.”  It was then that his books escaped en masse, cascading down the podium and splattering onto the floor with a noise that could have put cannon fire to shame. “Ah… _rats!_ Um… um… while I’m picking up my books, why don’t we begin our introductions?  We’ll start with the front.  Uh, yes.  You!  You there, with the glasses.”

            A timid girl rose from her chair, visibly trembling in her shoes and adjusting her glasses with a sweaty hand. “I’m… I’m Touko Fukawa,” her stutter made things even more unbearable to Junko’s ears; it was the yowling of cats in a brawl and the grating of nails on a blackboard, all combined into one fell sound.  Repulsed, the ex-fashionista wrinkled her nose.  “Freshman… Um… H-hi…”

            Next came a red-haired boy, who rose and folded his arms, not even daring to meet the professor in the eye.  “Leon Kuwata.  ‘Sup.”  And then promptly took his seat again.   The lackluster introductions continued without much merit.  Junko found herself promptly forgetting each name as soon as the next student had risen from their chair.  It was a vicious cycle of careless forgetfulness, all the way up until she blinked and caught herself standing from the cold chair.

            “Junko Enoshima.  Freshman.”

            She had tried to keep her face stoic, but a coy smile cracked its way across her scarlet lips.  

            “You’re that girl that’s in all of the magazines.  The model!” someone in the class gasped.

            _No, I’m more than that, you plebian fool.  I’m fucking rich.  I’m a designer.  An artist.  A fucking mastermind.  I’m too many things for you to comprehend.  And God knows why the fuck I’m even in this place.  What was I looking for?_

“Yes,” her smile fractured, wavering for a moment, but she recovered.  Pale eyes turning to the brown-haired girl who had spoken up, Junko Enoshima ran a hand through one of her pale pigtails. “I’m _that_ girl.”


End file.
